


Stay

by Lassarina



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-15
Updated: 2007-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-30 14:46:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassarina/pseuds/Lassarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a first time for everything, even for a world-weary treasure hunter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a cliche round at het_challenge; I chose to invert the cliche, which was virginity/first time. Takes place in an AU set in Key West, Florida.

"Ahem. Ms. Chere?"

Celes bit her tongue and reminded herself that the man currently standing in the doorway of her office was bringing the hotel thousands of dollars in revenue. She rose and turned from her monitor with her best public smile at full wattage. "Mr. Westfield, how good to see you. How can I help you today?"

He walked in and took a seat without being asked, leaning toward her. This had the unfortunate effect of revealing the very shiny bald spot on the top of his head. Celes seated herself across from him.

He reached across the desk to take her hand. "I'm so pleased with the accommodations for the convention, really I am. You've done such a good job of arranging things." His thumb stroked her wrist in what he clearly hoped was a seductive gesture. Celes repressed a shudder and concentrated on holding her smile in place. "I have a few small concerns, though..." he continued.

Celes gently retrieved her hand and pretended not to notice his frown. "Concerns? I'm terribly sorry to hear that, and I'd be glad to help you resolve them. The Island Getaway is a place where our guests can relax and leave the details to us." Somehow she managed to keep her voice from assuming the same obnoxiously peppy-cute tone as their television commercials.

He pulled a crinkled piece of paper from the inner pocket of his equally crumpled suit and smoothed it ostentatiously on her pristine desk. Celes reminded herself that this was the best-paying job in the area unless she actually owned one of the mega-resorts, and put on her best patient expression. Soon she would have enough saved to leave here and do whatever she wanted. In the meantime, she smiled at the men who circled like sharks around the last tasty morsel of fish, and continued to manage the hotel to the best of her ability.

Mr. Westfield launched into a series of petty complaints about minor things. Celes took detailed notes and consciously relaxed her grip on the pen lest she bend it. By the time he got to complaining about the staff's "lack of friendly behaviour," her face ached from holding the smile and she wanted nothing more than to throw him straight out her office window and into the pool twenty stories below.

The sudden buzzing of the intercom interrupted Mr. Westfield's tirade about how the staff was being "standoffish" – Celes knew perfectly well he meant that she was being standoffish, and that he expected her to sleep with him, and had therefore mostly tuned him out for the past five minutes. She welcomed the distraction.

"Please forgive me," she said, making her smile brighter, and pushed the intercom button. "Yes, Alice?"

"There's an urgent call for you on line two," her assistant informed her. "It's Mr. Stone."

Celes blinked, and nearly let her professional smile slip into a more personal one, a reaction she quickly suppressed. "Send it through, please, Alice. I'm sorry, Mr. Westfield, this will take just a moment."

The phone line chimed, and she lifted the receiver. "Good afternoon, this is Celes Chere."

"Do you require a valiant rescue effort, fair damsel?"

"Mr. Stone, it's a pleasure to hear from you. I trust your business trip went well?" She directed an apologetic look at Mr. Westfield and turned her chair around so that she was facing her monitor once again, the better to conceal small shifts of expression. Her tone was all cool professionalism.

"The suit looks great," he continued, and Celes controlled the urge to spin her chair toward the window and try to find wherever he was watching her from.

"I'm sorry, but I'm with a guest right now. Could I call you back later?"

"Captain Tony's at seven," he said. "I'll buy."

"Great, thank you. Have a great day." She turned back and hung up the phone, noting the scowl forming on Mr. Westfield's face. "I'm so sorry about that. You were saying that you felt the staff had not been friendly enough?"

As he resumed his tirade, she began counting down to the end of the day.

~*~

Four hours later, freshly showered and wearing a soft blouse and slacks in the same shade of blue as her suit from earlier, she walked down Greene Street and into Captain Tony's Saloon. As ever, it was a chaotic mass of people and music. Even in the lull between the summer season and the rush of people desperate to leave colder climes for the warmth and light of the Keys, Captain Tony's was never quiet.

She saw him immediately, lounging against the corner of the bar and defending an empty seat next to him from a cranky man in his late 40's. She made her way over and he promptly removed his leg from the stool so she could sit.

"You took the suit off," he said, sounding almost disappointed.

"I'm not wearing a business suit to a bar," she replied, amused. He handed her a glass of chardonnay. It was icy cold and tasted like heaven.

"I was wondering when you'd be back," she said carefully, deliberately not looking at him. After all, nothing had been said between them before.

He tugged at the elastic band holding her hair and unraveled the tight braid, combing the long blonde strands with his fingers. She thought about snapping at him, but she didn't particularly wish to drive him away after he'd just come back. However, she could and did prevent herself from making vaguely catlike sounds as he toyed with her hair.

"You looked like you were having a fantastic time at that meeting," he observed.

"Since when do you spy on my office, anyway?" she retorted. "And where were you?"

He grinned. "A gentleman doesn't reveal his secrets."

"You aren't a gentleman."

"It's true I'm a rogue at heart." He winked at her and sipped from his glass of dark lager. "But I wasn't doing anything particularly illegal this afternoon."

She noticed the specific statement of time, and chose not to react to it. She honestly didn't want to know where he'd been or whom he'd been stealing—no, sorry, "treasure hunting"—from lately. "Incidentally," she began, and saw the wary expression that crossed his face at her tone, "Mr. Stone?"

He grinned. "Well, I have something sparkly to show you. And I figured you'd know it was me when I started talking."

"Thank you," she said dryly, "for providing me with a fantastically awkward conversation to have while Mr. Westfield was trying not to drool on my desk."

"Oh, come on, you haven't managed to terrify him as thoroughly as you do your employees?" He waggled his glass at her. "I don't believe it for a minute, General."

He seemed unfazed by the icy look she bestowed upon him at his use of her unofficial nickname, and downed the rest of his beer.

They ordered dinner, and made their way back to her apartment. She knew he was watching her, studying the way the breeze pressed her clothing against her, and the realization made her a little bit giddy. She firmly quashed that notion; she had her reputation to think of, and regardless of how charming a rogue he was, she had no intention of letting him stay the night. Never mind that the thought was more appealing the more she considered it.

"I have something to show you," he said when they were safely inside.

"That had best not be the obvious pick-up line it seems to be," she said, moving to the kitchen to pour another glass of wine. He laughed and followed her in, snagging one of the bottles of Guinness he'd left last time from the fridge.

"I would never be so predictable," he said, and she felt the slide of cool metal against her hand. She glanced down automatically and saw an enormous marquise-cut sapphire on a platinum chain draped across her palm.

"My God!" She lifted it and stared at the jewel. "Where did you—never mind."

"From a senator's wife's jewelry case—the one full of gifts from lovers the good senator doesn't know about." He leaned against the counter and twined strands of her hair around his fingers. "Why don't you leave your hair loose more often?"

"It gets in the way. Is it a natural sapphire?" She tilted her head slightly as he tugged gently at her hair. She owned no jewelry herself, as she could not afford quality stones and refused to settle for second-best, but she loved to look in the windows of the jewelry stores.

"Well, it has enough inclusions that I doubt it's lab-made." He slid his fingers through her hair, close to her scalp, and tugged her toward him for a kiss.

"Don't think you're going to ply me with drink and coax me into bed, you rogue," she said when he let go, though her tone was playful.

"I wouldn't dream of it, General." He winked.

"Oh, stop. I hate that nickname." She picked up her wine and headed to the living room.

"Yes, ma'am." He sprawled on the couch next to her, looking entirely at home. "Shall I tell you how I came by that little treasure?"

"I'd prefer not to have to testify against you in court," she replied dryly.

"Your lack of faith wounds me." He clutched his heart. "You think I'd permit myself to be _caught?"_

"Very well then, how did you come by it?"

She listened to him explaining how the senator had set up the security system, and exactly how he'd bypassed it. Part of her was caught up in the thrill of adventure of his story; another part analyzed his remarks on the flaws of the system, and how she might apply her newfound knowledge of those flaws to improving the security at the hotel. He eased closer to her as the evening went on, idly braiding her hair while they chatted.

It was starting to get late, and she knew she should send him on his way. But she could not quite muster the willpower to move away, and it felt nice to have his fingertips idly drawing circles on her shoulder while they talked.

"I probably should go," he said reluctantly as the clock turned to eleven thirty.

"I wanted to ask you something," she said, and though she knew it sounded abrupt, she took a deep breath and jumped. "Why haven't you asked if you could stay?"

It sounded awkward, and horrible, and she cursed herself for not phrasing it correctly. _This is why your employees call you the ice queen when they think you can't hear,_ she thought, and hoped she hadn't ruined everything.

He looked away, and then back at her, more nervous than she had ever seen him. "I. Uh. I've never...um."

"You've never what?" She was reasonably certain he was blushing, and she had never seen a man blush before in her life. Then it clicked. "Wait, what, _never?_ Are you kidding?" He could not be much younger than she, if in fact he is not older, and her brain refused to process this idea.

He shrugged awkwardly. "I, well, there was a girl. Once. We were in a car accident, and she...it was my fault. Anyway. There hasn't really been anyone else since then." He muttered something else that she didn't quite catch, but it sounded vaguely like "until you."

She set aside her glass, and leaned forward to kiss him, her hands sliding into his hair as his arms came up around her. "Stay tonight," she whispered.

"As my lady commands," he said, and winked at her.


End file.
